"Condition. . .concerning, seeing no improvement. . ."

". . .increase dosage. . .consider alternatives. . ."

In the past, hearing those hushed mutterings from the doctors just outside of his room would have made Taki nervous.

Now, he expects them.

As the doctors conclude their discussion of his treatment, Taki sighs and leans back into the hospital bed. He would say it wasn't very comfortable, but it's been so long since he had slept in any other bed that he doesn't feel that it would be fair to draw any comparisons.

He hates this life.

He is shackled to a hospital bed, chained by an IV drip, jailed by concerned nurses and harried doctors, confined to this lonely room by his weak body.

Taki wishes that he could live a normal life.

One day, he wakes up to discover that his wish had been granted.


As he blearily sits up in an unfamiliar room, Taki thinks that he should be panicked. Or confused. Probably both.

All he felt was a sense of freedom, that an unbearable weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He wasn't disturbed in the slightest that he had suddenly become a girl.

The day passes by in a blur. Taki is unaccustomed to life outside of his hospital room. He has trouble keeping straight all of the new people he met.

To start off, apparently she (or he?) was Mitsuha Miyamizu. She lives at the local shrine of a country town called Itomori. Living with her are her younger sister, Yotsuha, and her grandmother, Hitoha. Her two closest friends are Sayaka Natori and Katsuhiko Teshigawara.

As he lays down on her futon after a tiring day, he smiles to himself. As he drifts off to sleep, Taki feels something he hasn't felt for a very long time.

He feels normal.


When he wakes up in his own body, wracked with splitting pain and dizzying nausea, Taki is suddenly struck by overwhelming guilt. He remembers that while he was off enjoying a carefree school day in her body, Mitsuha was dealing with his illness and all of the accompanying baggage.

But a small part of him still hopes that they will switch places again.

The next time they switch, Taki finds that his mind lingers on Mitsuha. He wonder how she is coping with his illness and the painful treatment. Distracted by these thoughts, he withdraws, worrying Mitsuha's friends and family.

After a long day filled with guilt and worry, Taki once again finds himself laying on the futon in Mitsuha's room. He wishes he could talk to her, apologize for putting her through such pain and suffering.


Taki is pleasantly surprised when he wakes up in his body that he feels no pain or nausea.

But when he spots an unfamiliar journal sitting on his bedside table, he feels a sense of dread.

Would she be upset with him? Would she think it unfair that she must suffer while he enjoys her life?

Taki hesitates. It also wouldn't be fair to ignore what she has to say. He opens the journal.

"Taki, I hope you get better soon! I know it must be difficult for you. Don't feel guilty about us switching places, it's not your fault. If you want to feel guilty about anything, I'll be both mad and sad if you don't take this opportunity to have fun!"

He doesn't realize he's crying until tears start staining the journal.


After Mitsuha's first journal entry, the two of them reach a tacit agreement to document each day they switch places. Every few days or so, they switch bodies. Taki takes Mitsuha's advice to heart and does his utmost to simply enjoy life when he can.

He finds joy in being able to play basketball again and in helping Tessie build their own little makeshift café. He relishes working with his hands as he braids cords with Yotsuha and Hitoha, learning the history of Itomori and the shrine's traditions. He even enjoys going to school, spending time learning and interacting with other students. He is filled with awe and reverence as he visits the sacred relic of Miyamizu Shrine.

He tries not to worry too much about Mitsuha, but he can't help it.


Waking up after a switch one day, Taki finds a somewhat incoherent and worried message from Mitsuha. What little he can make out from the scratched out words send a pang of fear throughout his body.

"I heard the doctors talking. They say your condition has gotten far worse than they anticipated."

The next few lines are obscured by what Taki realizes are tear stains.

"I'm scared, Taki. Please don't go."


"Taki, you have two options left to you," the doctor explains. "One, you can forego any further treatment. If you do, your lifespan is estimated to be just a few weeks."

Taki stares forlornly at the floor.

"Your second option is to undergo a risky experimental procedure. I won't lie to you, the chances of success are quite low. But if the procedure succeeds, your illness will go into remission for a good while—conservative estimates say at least a year, the average estimates are far better."

Taki weighs the decision.

He's simultaneously surprised and not surprised when Mitsuha is the first thing that comes to mind.

"I'll do it."


The day before the operation, Taki wakes up in Mitsuha's body. He can't express how happy he is to have one more chance to spend time with the people he had grown so close to.

He braids cords with Hitoha, learning about the history and traditions of the Miyamizu family.

He gets ice cream with Yotsuha, and plays with her on the shores of Lake Itomori.

He goes to the café he built with Saya and Tessie and spends a long time talking with them about the future.

When he finally returns to Mitsuha's room, Taki feels content. He had done everything he had wanted to, except one thing.

He wished that he could have met her, just once.

Taki sits down at her desk, and begins writing.


Mitsuha Miyamizu dreams of a sickly Tokyo boy.

She dreams of his past. His birth, which caused complications leading to his mother's death. A lonely childhood as his father valiantly struggled to provide for him. The first time he collapsed from school, and the following diagnosis. The loneliness as his classmates drifted away, uncomfortable with their own mortality as their friend slowly slipped away. His father growing more and more distant as he worked harder and longer in order to afford medical treatment.

A brief moment in time where he was happy, able to live the normal life he had always longer for.

But the highs are always followed by lows. The finality when the doctors tell him of the inevitable. The resolve on his face as he chooses the risky operation, just so he could try to meet her.

The last time they switch as he says his goodbyes.

Before he goes into the operating room, he reads the journal they shared one last time.

He smiles.

Then, nothing.


She wakes up crying.

And she knows why.

She desperately scrambles for the notebook laying on her desk and quickly flips through the pages.

She finally finds Taki's last entry.

"I love you."